


Ursula

by thegrendel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Baader-Meinhof Group, Chains, F/M, Germany, Kidnapping, M/M, Police, Rape, Restraints, Rote Armee Faktion, Terrorists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 04:57:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15722439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrendel/pseuds/thegrendel
Summary: Kidnapped by terrorists, Josh was chained, raped, and humiliated. But, one of his captors was kind to him. And he was beginning to fall in love with her.





	Ursula

It was late in the afternoon and his feet hurt. How nice it would  
be to get back to the hotel room and sink into the padded recliner!  
An attractive blonde stood just ahead of him in the checkout line. As  
he happened to glance over, he caught a quick glimpse of a shiny metal  
object in her open purse. Damned if it didn't look just like a handgun.

Josh wasn't all that familiar with local customs, but he knew damn well  
that people didn't go around toting guns in handbags. Especially not in  
a department store in the heart of West Germany. This woman had to be  
either a cop or a robber, and either way he should probably do something  
about it.

" _Entschuldigen Sie, bitte_ . . . You are the store manager?"

"Yes, and how might I be of help, _mein Herr_?"

"That lady over there -- _die Blondinne_ \-- she has a weapon in  
her purse. I got a look at it standing in line behind her, and . . . "

"Not to worry. We shall handle it. Please wait here while I page store  
security."

 

" _Bezeugnis_? But I'm an American! Surely you don't expect me to  
appear in court."

"My good sir, in a criminal case persons of any nationality can be  
summoned to testify. It is the law in this country. You can easily verify  
this by taking it up with the appropriate people at your consulate."

" _Scheisse!_ "

 

"Sorry, Sam, I won't be able to fly back tomorrow night. I know you  
were counting on me for that contract signing in Boston, but I seem to  
be marooned on this side of the pond for a while. I just happened to be  
present at the arrest of a wanted terrorist and . . .

"Yeah, that's what I said, a _terrorist_. A member of a notorious  
group of desperadoes, I'm told. They'll be taking a deposition from me,  
and I may even have to testify at the damn trial. And no, I'm not making  
the story up. It's the gospel truth."

 

" _Bodyguard?_ "

"Yes, Mr. Joshua Berman. I have been assigned to you. The associates  
of the people we have in custody are _sehr gefährlich_.  
Highly dangerous. They might well attempt to prevent your testimony,  
even by violent means."

_Violent means?_

It seemed so unreal to him, riding in the armored Mercedes sedan on  
the way to the courthouse. Testifying in a German court wasn't quite  
what he'd had on his agenda when he flew over to finalize the export  
deal. If he'd had to choose an adventurous diversion from business,  
it would have been a wild tryst with an exotic stranger ( _Lonely, he_  
_was so lonely._ ). Well, at least there was that nice-looking female  
_Kriminalpolizei_ investigator and . . .

The blast showered him with shards of broken glass and threw him to the  
floor of the car. Dense smoke . . . choking, couldn't breathe . . .

_"Raus! Raus!"_

Strong hands ripped him out of the burning car and threw him facedown  
onto the cobblestones . . . and someone had a knee in the small of his  
back and was roughly binding together his arms behind him.

Road noises and jolts. He was in some kind of vehicle -- doubled over,  
cramped, being bounced around. Probably in the trunk, but he couldn't be  
certain because of the tight blindfold. They were taking him somewhere.  
_They?_ Who _were_ they? Was he being driven to a convenient  
place to be executed, or had he _only_ been kidnapped?

Asleep. Must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew was the  
darkness and the distant sound of water dripping. And confinement. He  
seemed to be lying on his back on some sort of hard bench, unable to move  
his arms or legs very much. _Chained up!_ It wasn't uncomfortable,  
exactly, since he could rest chin and chest and flex his legs enough to  
keep the circulation going. But, he was in bondage. _A captive._  
In a dark cellar. A dungeon!

A creak of an opening door. The light blinded him. " _Hör' zu_ ,"  
the voice said. "Liss-ten. Vee holding you prison. Hostage, maybe.  
Let you free if police let free Gudrun." It was a low-pitched woman's  
voice. Ominous, threatening, but promising . . . what?

Four walls. Crumbling plaster revealing dirty brickwork. Cobwebs hanging  
from the ceiling. And the woman -- in her early thirties maybe,  
dark-haired, voluptuous, darkly menacing.

A surge of fear spiced with lust washed over him. If only he could have had  
a girlfriend that good-looking and . . .

"Look here, you," she said. " _Eimer_ \-- container. Relieve self. When full,  
someone takes away."

He could make out a rusty metal bucket over in the far corner of the room.  
And, it looked like the chain holding him was just long enough to reach to  
there.

"Hello, Ami boy." She sat down just out of his reach and smiled. It was  
a crooked smile. "Get good look, you. No touch." She had unbuttoned her  
blouse. He gaped at a bare breast.

"Oh, yes. Sex. We give you plenty sex. But, maybe not with woman."

"No, certainly not." A tall, bearded man had walked in. He had placed his  
arm around the woman's shoulders. "My girlfriend, she makes jokes. And,  
she likes watch while I take pleasure with hostage."

The man pulled roughly on the chain attached to Josh's manacles. "Stand  
up, you," he said. "Whatever I say you now do. Exactly what I say. If you  
wish to live, you will do what I say."

The woman was pointing a pistol at Josh. "You live, you die . . . all  
the same maybe. Give pleasure to Johann, and perhaps we let you live."

_Pleasure to Johann?_

"There. Over bench. Lie down. On stomach."

_What?_

"Down!"

Josh lay facedown, staring at the dirt-streaked wood grain of the bench.  
They had tied his hands and feet with rope, securing him to the hard,  
splintery surface. He stiffened as he felt his pants brutally dragged  
down. Then a heavy hand smeared something cold and wet and slimy on  
his bottom, between the cheeks. The woman's laughter sounded like glass  
shattering.

"Oh, yes. We preparing for fun. For pleasuring."

_This guy was going to RAPE him!_

A shaft of pure agony transfixed him. His ass was tearing open! And,  
it went on and on and he needed to scream, and he did scream, but no  
one heard him.

Somehow, he survived it. His butt throbbed and ached and he didn't know  
how he could come to terms with the humiliation, with the knowledge that  
. . . _he had been violated_ . . . but he still lived and breathed.
    
    
        The terrorist band known as the Baader-Meinhof Gang gave law-abiding
        German citizens quite a scare in the early 1970s. Bank robberies,
        bombs, and kidnappings were their trademark. After blundering around
        for years, the Federal Police finally began to close in on the group
        when . . .
    

He used the bucket twice. The second time his bowels didn't hurt as much.  
Then the woman came for him again. He jerked backward and whimpered as she  
reached for him.

"Not to be afraid," the woman said. "No more man sex. Now it is my turn."

She cradled his head between her breasts and hummed something that sounded  
like a lullaby. He sank down into sleep, thinking about how strangely  
gentle she had been with him, how she had accepted his throbbing, aching  
manhood into her body, how she had wiped away his tears afterwards.

"We are maybe not such bad people," she had murmured. "It is necessary  
sometimes cruelty, but it is for the sake of the revolution."

 

Josh awoke in darkness, but now he could move his arms. Only his legs were  
chained.

Ursula! She had whispered her name to him in the heat of passion. But,  
before that, she had taunted him . . . while he was being raped by her  
companion. What was the deal with her? Was she schizoid -- part depraved  
terrorist and part tender lover? Could he count on her for help, or  
was she trying to use him for her own purposes or to brainwash him  
into cooperating?

He was totally at the mercy of his captors. That much was clear. This  
bunch of loonies was holding him hostage, possibly to ransom him for money  
or to exchange him for one of their own being held in by the police. In  
any case, he had some value to them, and so he was probably safe, for  
the immediate future anyhow.

This whole thing was crazy. Here he was, a prisoner of terrorists in  
this enlightened year of 1973, a bare three decades after the defeat of  
the Nazis. Held hostage by revolutionaries against society. A society  
that cast doubt upon its own legitimacy by protecting ex-Nazis, and that  
sought to hide from its tainted legacy in orgies of gluttony, consumerism,  
and sex. A society that Josh would normally have had no particular use  
for, except for doing business with, of course. A society that he now  
desperately wished would rescue him.

He relieved himself in the bucket, and felt a little better afterwards.  
Physically, anyway. He was a hostage, still. Chained up and in the dark.  
And soon Ursula would come for him again. Would it be for tender  
lovemaking or taunting and torture?

 

The end, when it came, was a complete surprise. Faint explosions from  
somewhere high above woke him. Then there was a crackle of rapid gunfire  
amid screams and shouts. Thudding footsteps and a muffled boom, followed  
by a flash of bright light. Rescue was at hand. Maybe.

Josh felt his heart thumping as he choked on the clouds of dust. Free!  
Finally free!

Ski-masked men waving machine-pistols burst into the cellar. " _Hände  
hoch!_ ," they yelled at him.

Josh tried to raise his hands in the air in response to the command, but  
he stumbled over the chains on his legs and fell face-forward into the  
dirt. Then, he felt a sledge-hammer blow and everything went dead black.

 

" . . . spinal injuries . . . inoperable . . . permanent . . . "

The food wasn't all that bad, for a hospital. If only he could sit up  
comfortably and not have to put up with being spoon-fed. Well, he was  
lucky to be alive, after all. That, and wealthy. Fabulously wealthy  
after the fifty million the Bundesrepublik government had paid him in  
the settlement. As if he needed the wealth. As if millions of dollars  
could pay him back for being a paralyzed from the neck down.

It had been an accident, they had told him. Certainly there was no  
intention of shooting a hostage. And, if most of the terrorists had  
been killed (executed after their surrender, by at least one account),  
well, that was unfortunate, but to be expected. Innocent victims were a  
different matter. Embarrassing, that's what it was. An embarrassment to  
the government and to the Interior Ministry Rapid Intervention Squad.  
Especially when that squad had been led by the Interior Minister in  
person -- Karl-Heinz Metzger -- a notorious loudmouth and publicity hound,  
but totally lacking in judgment and a lousy shot to boot.

Well, there was one compensation -- his night nurse. Hildegard took care  
of his needs. _All_ of them. It seems that this particular nurse had  
an uncanny resemblance to, of all people, Ursula. And, after midnight,  
when things were quiet and the halls empty, Nurse Hildy would crawl into  
bed with him, hike up her skirts, and mount him. She would whisper how  
grateful she was that he had not given her up to the authorities. And that  
to repay the debt, she would follow him anywhere, even back to America,  
the Capitalist Paradise where the streets were paved with gold. She would  
care for him the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction, but the background is factual. The Baader-Meinhof Group did indeed terrorize Germany in the early 1970s. And the Interior Minister in the story is based on a real person, who just happened to be Interior Minister at the time.


End file.
